The barley field lady
by Rose de Sharon
Summary: AU: What if Balian has been able to rescue Saladin’s sister from Renaud de Châtillon?
1. The attack

**THE BARLEY FIELD LADY**

By Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer**: My name isn't Sir Ridley Scott and I own nothing except a '98 computer, so it'd be a waste of time to sue me.

**AU**. : What if Balian has been able to rescue Saladin's sister from Renaud de Châtillon?

Author's notes:

- I have absolutely no idea what was the name of Saladin's sister, so I called her Yasmina. It may not be historically correct, but it's a beautiful flower!

- "_Mika'il"_ is the Arabic pronunciation of the name of the archangel Michael.

- English isn't my native language and I don't have a beta-reader, all mistakes are mine.

- Some details come from the "Kingdom of heaven" movie book, edited by Newmarket Press.

Chapter 1 : The attack

_**(Princess Yasmina's POW)**_

My camp is under attack by Christian knights and right behind me I can hear the cries of my servants and slaves as the Templars kill them one after another. The pleas for help or mercy all fell on deaf ears: I recognized De Châtillon, or Prince Arnat al-Kerak as we Muslims call him, by his red mane of hair and beard, and his reputation of ruthlessness has spread terror across Syria. Salah al-Din, my brother, has sworn to behead De Châtillon after our caravans has been attacked by his men; but how could he have imagined Châtillon would dare attacking the oasis I've chosen to rest after a long travel?

I sit alone in a barley field, praying Allah to welcome all the victims in his Heaven. It is heartbreaking to hear the death cries of people I have known all my life. Châtillon's men don't even grant them a quick death: they rape the women before cutting their throats, behead the servants, slaughter the children regardless of their innocence, while all this time enjoying the horror they have created. I can smell smoke so I know our attackers are also burning the tents and the crops. The animals have fled in terror from the massacre, but a slow death awaits them in the desert. My heart is twisting in my chest as I hear a man pleading for mercy. A swishing sound from a sword and the pleas suddenly stop: a man has just been beheaded and I feel tears of rage and sorrow escaping from my eyes. Allah, deliver us from those demons!

How could this happen? How could men do such atrocities? Are there no good left in men's heart? Are we sentenced to destroy each other until not a human being remains in this world?

One after another, the voices of my people had quieted down forever. There is now just the sound of the tents burning and the yelps of camels fleeing. I sense the presence of someone approaching behind me. I gather some barley in my hands as a reminder of this world's beauty just before I rise on my feet, ready to face death with all my dignity. I give thanks to Allah to have allowed me finish my prayers before meeting my doom. My name is Princess Yasmina, sister of Salah al-Din Yusuf Ibn Ayyub and I will enter the gates of Heaven with my head held up high!

I turn over and, sure enough, it is De Châtillon who stands behind me. His red beard and hair are splattered with my people's blood. He looks just like a demon from Hell, yet I am not afraid of him. He's nothing but a handful of dust compared to Allah.

"_**I am Saladin's sister"** _I tell him.

He answers with a short, non-understandable guttural word and then rips the veil off my face. For some absurd reason I remember my brother joking, calling me a Queen Cleopatra look-alike during one of our family's dinners. I look at my enemy straight in the eyes as he raises his hand…


	2. The rescue

THE BARLEY field LADY 

By Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer**: the same as before

**Chapter 2: the rescue**

_**(Princess Yasmina's POW)**_

The red-haired demon is dragging me forcefully back to the burning camp, where I can see the slaughtered bodies of my servants. Allah, help me! The demon and his cohorts have massacred every men, women and children of my tribe, from the oldest man to the tiniest infant. Prince Arnat al-Kerak has an iron grip on my wrist and there is no way I can free myself from his clutches.

The other Christian knights glee joyfully at the sight of me, their prized catch. What are they going to do? Are they going to ransom me? I am of royal blood and my capture would insure an enormous wealth to those jackals, but according to my brother, the Christian leper king would never approve such a criminal act. De Châtillon shoves me brutally and I found myself on the ground, covered in dust and blood. His men – can they even be called men? – yell in approval and my worst fear comes true: De Châtillon wants to sully my body before killing me.

I close my eyes in horror, clutching the barley in my hand, trying to pray Allah for an instant death. I am unable to look at the demons towering over me…

… And yet, there is a strange silence.

I can still hear the burning fires destroying the tents but the murderers' cries of triumph have quieted. I open my eyes again, and sure enough the red-haired demon is staring at the horizon behind me, as well as his accomplices, a stupefied expression on their faces.

I hear the whinny of a horse and I turn around; a dark-haired man, mounting a gray horse and wielding a sword, is charging at my attackers!

De Châtillon roars like a desert lion and raises his sword, but his cohorts stay petrified on the spot as if they were facing the wrath of God's celestial armies. The stranger strikes once, twice, hacking at the knights in the blink of an eye, his shiny sword bathed in the monsters' black blood.

De Châtillon's accomplices shake out of their stupor and try to react, but to no avail: one gets his arm severed while trying to reach for his sword, another gets kicked right in the face and falls in the ground, blood running down from his broken nose. The stranger – an angel? – strikes at the left, at the right, at the left again, leaving the jackals no time to defend themselves, mowing them like ryegrass. His horse tramples the fallen enemies' bodies and I stand in the middle of the fight, unharmed and unable to detach my sight from the miraculous warrior.

Our eyes meet, and for an instant I get a look at his face. In spite of the blood, dust and grime maculating his face and his dark red shirt, I can tell he's beautiful. He's also a Christian, one of those pilgrims coming from the West, yet his sword is the mark of a knight. The next thing I know, he slashes at a demon that tried to strike him from behind!

I turn around to see if De Châtillon is still here, but he's nowhere in sight: the coward must have run away from this emissary of God! Two other knights abandon the fight and flee the battlefield, their feet rising clouds of dust in their panic. Run, traitors! May your ugly souls rot in Hell for all eternity!

The stranger buries his sword into the last man's skull with a _"crack"_ horrible to hear and the fight is over, leaving only the two of us standing. All of the perpetrators are either dead or gone, and hope returns to my heart: by no doubts this stranger is an envoy from Allah, like the archangel Mika'il!

But he has not won the battle unscathed: his face grimaces in pain, his eyes are blinking. His right hand, still holding the sword, rises slowly to his temple to feel the caked blood running down from it. I shake out of my stupor and reach out for his left hand: the stranger is made of flesh and blood so he's not an angel, but he has just slain my enemies and I want to help him now. "Mika'il", as I name him now, intertwines his fingers with mine while trying to catch his breath. His horse is nervous, uneasy, as if it didn't get enough action and is ready to fight again.

After a short bout of dizziness, Mika'il opens his eyes and smiles down at me. I catch a glimpse of admiration in his weary dark gaze and I could almost blush: in the heart of battle, this warrior takes the time to appreciate my beauty!

I want to thank him, but all of sudden the demon reappears! Prince Arnat al-Kerak is mounted on his black horse and he charges right at us, his sword held up high, yelling a blood-chilling hyena-like war cry!


	3. The fight

THE BARLEY FIELD LADY 

By Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer**: the same as before

**Chapter 3**

_**(Princess Yasmina's POW)**_

Mika'il pushes me out of the way and I found myself on the ground once more. The two swords clash together in a loud metallic _clang_ and I could swear some sparks flew in the air when the weapons collided. Mika'il fights with all his might, giving De Châtillon no chances and no pity as the red monster is a formidable foe as well as a sword-master.

Fear seizes my heart again, but this time it is for Mika'il: who will win this mounted duel, the dark-haired angel or the red-manned demon? De Châtillon's face grimaces as he realizes Mika'il is a bigger challenge for a monster used to slaughter helpless women and children! The fight is terrible and between the swishing of swords, the shock sounds, the grunts and yells, I pray Allah to give my defendant strength and victory.

The swords cross once again and the warriors are almost face-to-face. I can see De Châtillon's getting worried: Mika'il has God on his side and he's gaining the upper hand. The Prince's rage is no match against a valorous fighter; he is getting tired from the battle, as his opponent is much younger and stronger as he is. De Châtillon is holding his sword with only his right hand now; his other arm is falling to his side…

… _No!_

De Châtillon has drawn a small dagger from his belt and he had stabbed Mika'il on the side!

I watch horrified as the dark-haired warrior yell in agony, blood maculating his shirt!

De Châtillon roars in triumph… I cry in anguish…

… But Mika'il has grabbed his sword with his two hands and he stabs De Châtillon's in the throat with the hilt!

The Prince's cry of glory ends in a gurgle of blood: the hilt has buried itself in his throat and his eyes are so widened he looks like a fish out of the water. A fountain of blood is running down his white Templar's cloth and in an instant, I cannot make out the red cross sewed on it! He finds enough strength to push himself free from the hilt's death strike and he kicks his horse savagely to flee the battleground, hastily using the cloth as a makeshift bandage. Run away coward, murderer! May Allah sentence you to an eternity of torment in Hell!

I am ecstatic, horrified, revengeful, a mix of emotions roaming in my mind and my heart. I feel like running after the demon-spawn and screaming vengeance, but a soft sound pierces through my fury state…


	4. An angel

THE BARLEY FIELD LADY 

By Rose de Sharon

**Disclaimer**: the same as in chapter 1.

**Chapter 4**

_**(Princess Yasmina's POW)**_

… A moan…

_Mika'il!_

I turn back to see my angel bending over his saddle, clutching his side, his eyes squeezed shut. Oh no, God, no! This man cannot die after saving me, he cannot!

I reach out to him, and say:

"_**I am Salah al-Dìn's sister".**_

Mika'il doesn't react; he just bit his lower lip so hard a rivulet of blood runs down his chin, mingling into his beard. The pain he feels must be terrible and there is only one way I can help him.

I must take him to my brother's camp, forty miles up north, and entrusting him to the care of his very skilled physicians.

But will my brother accept? Mika'il is a Christian knight and the relations between Christians and Muslims haven't been good. The massacre of my caravan will exasperate my brother's wrath against Jerusalem, even if he holds the leper king in high esteem. When I will tell Salah about De Châtillon's executions, he would have no peace until the red demon's head falls on the ground!

My brother has a strong mind and he would never avenge his pride on this innocent man. But I do know some of his advisors would resent the presence of a Christian in their camp, even if he were a hero.

Mika'il opens his eyes again in agony, and looks at me.

"**_I am Salah al-Dìn's sister"_** I repeat, cursing the fact we don't speak the same language.

But he seems to understand, as he says:

"_Saladin?"_

A ghost of a smile appears on his bloodied lips, and he bows his head to me in a battle-weary, wounded salute.

"_I am Balian, the baron of Ibelin."_

It is no use talking to me, Mika'il: I cannot understand your words. But we must be swift: his wound is bad and if blood loss and infection don't kill him, the desert's heat will certainly do. Besides, even if the Templar cowards have fled, they can still come back to make sure not witnesses are left alive to tell what happened.

Mika'il draws his sword back in its scabbard and groans as the movement has been painful for his wound. He holds out his hand to me and I climb on the horse, just behind him. The beast snorts when it feels the extra weight, but it seems to understand the grimness of our situation.

"**_Salah al-Din"_** I say, pointing to the direction of the North, and Mika'il kicks his heels into the horse's flanks, moving the beast to our goal. We leave the battlefield ground, darkened with smoke and blood, and I swear on my faith to Allah the Merciful I will come back to give my people a proper burial!


	5. Author's note

Author's note:

Due to an upcoming vacation, I won't be able to post new chapters before August. Thank you to the wonderful persons who have reviewed this story, it was much appreciated!

Special note to Sunniva: some chapters will be from Yasmina's POV, and some others from Balian's, Imad's (Salah-al-Din's secretary) and Salah-al-Din's himself! That will be fun! ;-)

Have a great summer!


	6. The desert

Princess Yasmina's POW 

The cowards led by the devil-spawned Prince Arnat al-Kerak attacked my camp very early in the morning, when we were still asleep. We didn't even have the time to say our morning prayers before those cold-blooded murderers killed innocent people. Now, the sun is high in the sky and the heat is suffocating. I flee through the desert without any food nor water and Mika'il is injured. May Allah grant us his help!

My veils and draped clothes are a good protection against the sun, but my warrior isn't as fortunate: he has nothing to cover his head or to dress his wound. The horse we ride on is getting tired and if we don't find my brother's camp soon we are in for a long, terrible death.

Mika'il is holding his wound with his left hand and I can see blood sweeping slowly through his fingers, maculating his dark red shirt. This sight makes me shudder but, at the same time, it makes me take a decision: caution and reserve be damned, I rip a large piece of fabric from my veils and in a swift movement, I bandage Mika'il's wound with it.

My protector grunts in surprise, but when the soft fabric makes contact with his wound, he doesn't cry out or protest. He puts his blood-covered hand out of the way so I can wrap the length of veil once, twice around his torso before knotting it tightly. It must have hurt him and I regret to do so, but the bleeding has to stop!

Another ripped piece of fabric is transformed into a makeshift turban for Mika'il's head. Sunstrokes can be deadly, especially for the wounded and I want this man to live: he will know my gratitude, as well as my brother's!

Mika'il smiles at me and his bloodied fingers squeeze mines in a gentle gesture. Acting out of impulse, I slip a barley ear inside his hand: he looks at it, puzzled, yet he accepts it without asking questions. In spite of the pain, I can tell he is keeping his concentration to reach a single goal: taking me to safety. Even if we cannot understand each other, he understood I showed him a direction where we will both be safe. That coward Prince Arnat-al-Kerak wouldn't dare to attack my brother and the 200,000 warriors under his orders!

More time have passed… I guess I have fallen asleep. I glance at the sun and it has passed its zenith. Mika'il presses his horse once again and the beast courageously climbs up a huge dune, while I try to avoid looking at the sun reflecting in the sand to preserve my eyesight: many men turned blind after neglecting to protect their eyes in the desert. For the thousandth time, I pray this mountain-like dune will be the last one we have to climb before reaching Salah's camp. But whatever happens to us, it is God's will and I must obey Him. At least, I won't die alone and unprotected: I have a beautiful angel with me.

The horse finally reaches the top of the dune in a rough movement, shaking me out of my stupor. I glance over Mika'il's shoulder and, for an instant, I believe my eyes are troubled by a mirage: my brother's camp is displayed at the bottom of the dune! Joy and fear seize my heart, as I know I'd be crushed if this is only an illusion, but in the distance I can already hear the sounds of alarm coming from the sentinels, riding up to meet us.

We have succeeded! We have reached Salah's camp! We're saved!

I climb down the horse with enthusiasm and wave at the soldiers: as soon as they recognize me, they will warn my brother and we will be both tended to. I can't wait to tell Salah about my ordeal and the murder of our people! He will ask Jerusalem's king for a private audience and, with my testimony, there are no doubts De Châtillon's days will end in disgrace at the executioner's hands, in front of a very large audience.

I turn to Mika'il to express my joy, but a horrible sight greets my eyes: Mika'il, his skin as pale as the snow, sways over his saddle and, before I can do anything, he falls from his horse. His body hits the sand and my angel lies unmoving, as if both his wings have been broken.


	7. Imad

**Chapter 6**

Author's notes:

- According to the _"Kingdom of heaven"_ movie book (Newmarket Press), the character of _"Imad"_ was created in homage to the Muslin chronicler Imad ad-Din of Isfahan who accompanied Saladin during the war and wrote about the battle of Hattin.

- In the movie, _"Imad"_ is the knight who accompanies Balian on his way to Jerusalem after his shipwreck and the fight in the desert (while hiding his identity). Afterwards, they both meet again at the battle of Kerak and after Jerusalem's siege.

- Note to Trekkies: the _"Imad"_ character is played by actor Alexander Siddig, who interpreted Dr. Julian Bashir in the TV series _"Star Trek: Deep Space Nine"_.

_**Imad's POW**_

I am the commander of my lord Salah al-Din's cavalry, but I can pride myself in being more than that. Over the years, I have won his trust and he became my mentor. He considers me as his confidant and that is no small honor: some people out there (Muslims, Jews or Christians) would pay royal fees to gain information about Salah al-Din's strategies or alliances. I have often being approached by spies dandling fortunes in front of my face, but I'd rather die on the spot than betray my Master.

Salah al-Din has won the kingdoms of Egypt and Syria after long years of struggles, and he is determined to win Jerusalem back from the Christians who settled there more than an hundred years ago. Yet, my Master shows an enormous respect towards their leper king, Baldwin IV, who had vanquished him once when he was barely seventeen years old and already ailing with this terrible disease. Salah al-Din has taught me to respect all men of honor and valor, regardless of their religion, even if it isn't always easy, especially in time of conflicts.

Today's a beautiful day and I am thinking of a hunt with Mizar, my favorite hawk. But suddenly, a cry is heard over the camp:

"_Visitors!"_

I am puzzled: my Master never told me about any guests coming. Ahmed, my servant, rushes to me while holding the reins of Antarès, my horse. Ahmed points toward the sand dune towering our camp and I can see a horse up there, a few of our sentinels surrounding it, and a silhouette with veils and robes. Could it be a woman, seeking for help?

I jump on Antarès' back and kick his flanks: whoever it is, it sure has stirred up some confusion among our people and I want to know what happened. Our sentinels are good men, but sometimes they are a little… rough, more eager to draw their swords than to ask questions. I can't blame them for their vigilance, though: our lord Salah al-Din has escaped from an attempted assassination once, and he has many enemies.

Antarès climbs the dune as if he has wings at his hooves, but the scene that greets me is enough to knock me down my horse. Our men kneels in front of a woman holding her ripened veil to her face, while a gray horse shaking in exhaustion is gently nuzzling the crumpled body of a man laying sprawled in the sand.

I am even more astonished when I recognized the woman: Princess Yasmina, one of my lord's sisters!

I jump down Antarès and bow as soon as my feet land on the sand, while questions rush into my mind. How could Lady Yasmina be here, without her escort? What happened to her caravan? She looks exhausted and her robes are covered in sand and dust.

"Your Highness, Princess Yasmina!" I say.

"Dear friend Imad, I give thanks to Allah's goodness for your presence." says she. "Is my brother present at his camp?"

I answer at once: "He is, milady, and he will be overjoyed to see you! But… if I may ask, where are your guards, your Highness? How come you've been travelling in the desert alone?"

Princess Yasmina's eyes turn as hard as obsidian stones, and I cannot stop a shiver of dread running down my spine: whatever happened, it mustn't be good.

"I must talk to my brother at once, Imad. But could you procure medical help to Mika'il here?"

Mika'il? I take a look at the body lying unmoving and, after an affirmative nod from Princess Yasmina, I turn the injured man slowly on his back, exposing his sand-incrusted face to the sun.

This time, I am flabbergasted: this is Balian, the new baron of Ibelin!

The shipwrecked man, who spared my life after his duel in the desert with my servant. The stranger who gave me back my freedom when we reached Jerusalem. The Christian knight who gallantly fought my cavalrymen at Kerak… By what kind of magic is he here, with Princess Yasmina?

But a quick inspection of his body informs me it's by recent foul deeds this Christian is here. Ibelin is wounded on the side, the blood has swept through a makeshift bandage and his face is ashen. He looks even worse than he did after the battle of Kerak, vanquished while fighting my men so innocent people could have enough time to reach the fortress.

The gray horse nudges his muzzle at me, as if it wanted me to do something for his master. I raise my head and I can see Princess Yasmina staring at me.

"Mika'il?" I ask.

"That's how I call him… I don't know his real name", answers my lady.

Now isn't the time to explain who this man is. I give out orders and, soon enough, Princess Yasmina rides to our camp on Antarès' back, escorted by the sentinels. One guard has been dispatched to get a liter and to warn my lord's physicians about a new and important patient. While waiting for him to come back, I take off my cloak and covers Ibelin's inert form with it.

I touch his throat and feel the Christian's pulse beating beneath my fingers: too rapid. Probably from shock, blood loss and exhaustion. With a sigh, I reach out and brush a lock of long, dark hair away from his sweated brow.

"What happened to you, my friend?" I ask.

But right now, only the whispering desert winds can answer me.


	8. Saladin

**Chapter 7**

**Disclaimer**: the same as in Chapter 1. I am still not Sir Ridley Scot!

**Author's note**:

I am taking a little liberty with history here. For the story's purposes, I've imagined De Châtillon has escaped prison after the battle of Kerak and King Baldwin IV will live long enough to meet Saladin one more time, in Jerusalem. But that's why this is called a fiction, and I don't think King Baldwin IV would have complained! ;-)

_**(Salah-al-Din's POW**_ )

The sun has disappeared behind the sand dunes. The sky is colored in orange, red, purple and deep blue colors. The men are slowly retiring to their tents or gathering around campfires… This has been the longest day of my life.

As I walk toward the tent of Imad, my secretary-confident-disciple, I am reminding the events of this day…

-----------------------------------

It had started nicely: I've spent the morning with Imad, talking about the understanding made with King Baldwin IV after the confrontation nearby Kerak of Moab. Even if some of my men think it was foolish to renounce to the war, this treaty has brought me a lot of satisfaction: the arrest of Prince Arnat al-Kerak, that greedy bloodthirsty red pig! One of my spies, who work at Kerak's fortress as a servant, told me the Christian King has slashed De Châtillon's face with a cane before ordering his guards to take him away. A public humiliation before an upcoming execution, that was very satisfying!

Imad and I have agreed that going to war is currently premature: we need more men, total possession of the water wells and, also, I need to control the warlords who may be tempted to strike Jerusalem in spite of my direct orders. As King, it is my responsibility to see my authority being respected: otherwise, the other lords would easily send thousands of soldiers to their dooms, without succeeding in conquering Jerusalem! I have never thought the lives of soldiers as being expandable: they are all good, God-fearing men and cannot be disregarded to fulfill one's ambitions.

After our talks, Imad left my tent and I suspected he wanted to go hunting with Mizar, his pride and joy. My confidant's love for hawks is legendary and the subject of hundreds of jokes around the camp. For myself, I had an appointment with poems I've wanted to read for a long, long time. But after Imad's departure, I've heard some commotion outside my camp and I told one of my servants to go see what was happening.

The servant left to return some time after, talking excitedly about: _"A princess… Imad… a Christian!"_. I couldn't make head or tail of what the man was babbling about so I put down my poetry with an exasperated sigh and I went outside my tent, followed by my bodyguards, vowing there would be Hell to pay if this was another false alarm.

The sight that greeted me almost knocked me down. It was my beloved sister Yasmina, holding her ripped and tattered veil to her face, under the escort of ten of my men! Right behind her was Imad, standing over the body of a man lying on a makeshift litter, wrapped in my secretary's cloak.

It took all my dignity not to fall apart in front of my troops at the sight of my dear Yasmina, the wisest and most courageous of all my sisters, standing in front of me in such a state! Yet, she was holding herself like a queen and despite the circumstances, I felt so prideful.

"_Salah al-Din, dear brother! I have terrible and urgent news for you"_ she said with a sad voice.

I ushered her in my tent, ordering the servants to bring food, tea, fresh water and clothes. Yasmina looked exhausted but one look into her fiery eyes told me she wouldn't rest before telling me what had happened. I heard Imad ordering the guards to carry the injured man in his tent, before taking back his place at my side. As curious as I was about this stranger, I had more urgent matters to tend.

And then, Yasmina told me about her ordeal.

_The attack of her caravan by Templar knights led by Prince Arnat-al-Kerak._

_The ruthless slaughter of our people._

_Yasmina's feelings of dread as she expected torture and death at the hands of Renaud de Châtillon._

_And then… Her miraculous champion, saving her from those demon-spawned monsters._

_The flight through the desert._

I was beyond enraged! I wanted nothing but grab my sword and destroy Jerusalem all by myself. That pig al-Kerak has somehow been freed and he has dared attacking my sister! That was a blatant insult, an outrage, and a declaration of war!

Soon enough, I have calmed down as a plan unfolded in my mind. The traitors who have raided Yasmina's caravan don't know that my sister has survived the attack. I have the element of surprise: Yasmina's testimony in front of King Baldwin IV will be irrefutable, and the leper child-king will grant me anything I want. I will ask for De Châtillon's head and I will see his execution with my own eyes! A message sent to Tiberias, governor of Jerusalem, will be enough to grant me an audience with King Baldwin IV. I will go there with Yasmina and fifty of my most trusted men to assure our security.

My sister retired in my sleeping quarters to bathe, change and get some rest. Then, Imad reminded me that we had a guest… the injured man. Imad took upon himself to settle the stranger – my sister's champion! – in his own tent, and asked my physicians to take care of him.

"_Why didn't you settle the Christian in my tent?"_ I asked him, a bit crossed at this initiative.

Imad looked embarrassed, and then he answered: _"Some of our men may resent the presence of a Christian under your tent, my Lord, even if he did save Princess Yasmina."_

I wanted to argue but at the same moment, one of my servants told me our young and ambitious Mullah wanted to see me. The news has spread like wildfire all over the camp, and of course the Mullah wanted nothing but to declare open war on Jerusalem at once!

I listened to his ranting and raving for about an hour. When he was finished, I told him in no uncertain terms that declaring war on Jerusalem was my decision alone. That we were not ready for a conflict right now and Yasmina's testimony will buy us a reprieve. Since I don't need this troublemaker in my camp for the time being, I sent him to supervise the burial of De Châtillon's latest victims. Our young Mullah was pretty angry but he couldn't do anything but accept my orders, and he left with the company of a few soldiers.

I told Imad: _"I understand what you've said earlier about some of ours resenting the presence of a Christian under my tent!"_

-------------------------------

I enter Imad's tent and sure enough, I can see Yasmina's savior has been tended to. He's sleeping on a pallet of blankets and his bare torso has been wrapped in bandages, blood has maculated the white linens on his right side. From the sweat covering his face and his shallow breathing, I can tell a fever is raging within his body. Imad is sitting at the young Christian's side. He didn't hear me enter, as he is busy wiping sweat from the fallen man's brow with a piece of cloth.

"How is he doing?" I ask.

Out of confusion, Imad jumps on his feet and bows quickly. "Your physicians said the Christian has been wounded badly, my Lord. They have done everything in their powers to help him. Now, his recovery relies on his strength and Allah's mercy."

"Do you know who he is? Yasmina told me she didn't get his name, so she calls him Mika'il."

Imad looks even more embarrassed: "He's Balian of Ibelin, the son of Godfrey."

This time, I cannot hide my surprise!

"Godfrey? Godfrey almost killed me in the Lebanon, years ago. Are you sure?"

Imad nods, and then he confesses meeting Balian of Ibelin in the desert, a few miles from the seacoast. The young Christian defeated both Imad and one of his cavaliers, Mummad al-Fais, after being defied for the ownership of a beautiful black horse. My secretary was shortly at Ibelin's mercy but then, Ibelin asked Imad to lead him to Jerusalem. There, he granted Imad his freedom… and the beautiful horse! Much later, Imad spared Ibelin's life at the battle of Kerak, since he had fought for a noble cause: preventing the nearby villagers to become war victims.

I have always known Mummad al-Fais as a hothead and I was not surprised when I heard about his death in duel: it was bound to happen. But the news about Godfrey's child astonishes me!

"I never knew he had a son!"

I want to get a closer look and I settled down at Ibelin's side, gazing at his face. Blood and dust have been washed and yes, I can make out Godfrey's features in this man in spite of the darker hair and younger years. How could I forget Godfrey of Ibelin, the tall Christian knight who has nearly ended my life during a battle nearby the city of Beirut? But unlike Prince Arnat al-Kerak and his cohorts, Godfrey didn't attack me in foul play: he was defending his men against my troops and succeeded in making me retreat. Later, he freed all his prisoners without asking for any kind of ransom.

_An image flashes in my mind: Godfrey of Ibelin on his horse, charging my soldiers with his mighty sword held up high in the sunlight…_

I am shaken from my reverie as I realize Imad keeps on with his explanation: "From what I've heard, my Lord, Balian's existence has been a surprise for everyone when he arrived in Jerusalem a few months ago. I've also learnt he's not a friend of Guy de Lusignan, King Baldwin's inept and dangerous brother-in-law."

Ah! Who in his right state of mind could be friend with de Lusignan? He's a slug!

"The leper child holds Ibelin in high esteem, as well as Lord Tiberias. And for my personal experience, my Lord, I can assure you he is a good man."

"A good man? I could hardly be convinced otherwise! This Christian saved my sister's life! Why are you so worried?"

"I am worried because some of your advisors may not accept the presence of an enemy's son near you." Imad states matter-of-factly.

At the same moment, the injured young man moans as his eyes are moving beneath his closed eyelids. His head rolls from side to side, soundless words passing through his lips. Obviously, he's having fever dreams and they are not pleasant. And then, he calls out for someone:

"_Father…. Father?"_

I know enough of the Christians' language to recognize this word at once: young Ibelin is dreaming of Godfrey.

I get on my feet, and look at my secretary straight in the eye: "Anyone who dares hurting our guest will pay for it with his life. Understood?"

Leaving a very stunned Imad behind me, I walk out of the tent and I am greeted by the cool night's air. My heart sings at the sight of the wonderful display of stars in the firmament. All of them shine so brightly! Praised be Allah for making this world so beautiful!


	9. Balian dreaming

**Disclaimer**: the same as in Chapter 1.

**Author's note:** in this chapter, Balian has nightmares and some details may be scary to sensitive readers.

**Chapter 8**

It was the second night after the arrival of Princess Yasmina, and all was quiet in Salah-al-Din's camp. The men were either asleep in their tents or singing softly around the campfires. The full moon has arisen, glowing in all its majesty in the deep blue night sky, and the stars were shining like diamond particles.

Under his tent, Imad, Salah-al-Din's long-time secretary and confidant, was looking down worryingly at a young Christian knight, lying unconscious in a pallet of blankets. Dreams were plaguing the injured man and the fever will have to break soon, otherwise the Baron of Ibelin's life would be lost. Imad closed his eyes as he silently prayed Allah to save the life of this chivalrous, interesting enemy.

-------------------------

**(Balian's dream)**

_Little Balian was wandering in a grassy field, a young boy with a mop of dark hair and bright, shiny dark eyes. His knees and hands were smudged with soil, his clothes needed mending, and yet he was the happiest little boy ever since he was King of the World!_

_He laughed in delight as green grass tickled his bare feet. His eyes opened wide in wonder as he saw an eagle soaring up in the blue, cloudless sky. He munched happily on a peach, savoring the sweet taste and giggling as the fruit juice dripped on his chin. The sun was shining and the flowers were blooming, giving the little King of the World a display of colors and perfumes. If the boy listened carefully, he could hear the wind whispering softly: "Balian… Balian… Balian…"_

_In a flutter of wings, the eagle came spiraling downwards, nearby Balian. Unafraid, the little boy offered his arm and the bird perched itself on it. It stared at Balian for a moment, and then the King of the Skies started nipping on the peach held by the little King of the World._

"_What kind of man is a man who doesn't make the world better?" whispered Balian while watching the bird eating greedily bits of the fruit._

_But all of a sudden, the world turned dark. Balian raised his head to see huge grey clouds gathering in the sky, hiding the sun. The calm wind changed into a tempest, the grass was moving like furious green waves, making the animals scatter in all directions. The eagle remained perched on Balian's arm but its claws tightened on the child's flesh. Balian winced inwardly but his face gave nothing._

_The furious wind billowed Balian's clothes and hair, ruffling the eagle's feathers. The child thought he'd better find a shelter before the rain started but a rock passed nearby his face just before hitting the eagle in the head!_

"_Noooo!" _

_Balian screamed in horror as the eagle fell on the ground, mortally wounded. A mixture of blood and feathers spilled on the darkened grass while the bird's body was jerking in its last convulsions. The little boy started crying at the horrible sight of the eagle's brains peaking out of the skull, like a broken eggshell revealing the white._

_Yells of delight thundered all over the meadow. Balian raised his head to see his half-brother running towards him, holding a sling and leading a bunch of young boys._

"_Balian the Bastard! Balian the Bastard! Balian the Bastard!" chanted his half-brother, and of course his playmates chimed in happily, taunting and jeering the grieving little boy who was cradling the body of his dead pet in his arms._

_His half-brother's face suddenly changed, making him older, uglier, and his clothes morphed into a priest's attire. Balian looked down and saw his body turning into a man's. The whole world changed too, as it was covered now in snow. The wind felt like it was charged with ice. Nature was exposing the bare bones of trees and bushes, dark branches contrasting against the pale gray sky._

_Balian looked at his half-brother who was holding the corpse of Anne, his beloved wife. Anne looked sadly at Balian and the winter wind was billowing at the rope that was still hanging from her neck._

"_She committed suicide, bastard!" yelled his brother. "She will go to Hell, just like you!"_

"_Leave her alone!"_

_Balian rushed to help his wife but in a swift movement, his half-brother ripped Anne's head from her body!_

"_She rejected me, bastard! She preferred sullying her body with you! I warned her against marrying you! Now, she's mine! Forever!" laughed madly the priest, looking at Anne's severed head like a hard-won prize._

_Balian cried in anguish and charged at his half-brother while holding up in his hand a red-hot steel bar, which came out of nowhere. He reamed the bar through the priest's body, setting it into fire. His brother yelled in agony as he batted his hands in a futile attempt to smother the flames. Balian ripped his wife's crucifix from his brother's fat neck but the priest kept on cursing him:_

"_You killed me! You killed a priest! It's Hell for you, bastard brother!"_

"_I don't care!" Balian yelled back, but all of a sudden the armed men who had tried to ambush him in the forest surrounded him. Blood was covering their faces, armors, weapons and Balian realized these men were all dead, yet they were standing up and looking at him._

"_We are taking you in for your crime!" said one of the soldiers._

"_Nobody will try to help you!" said another._

"_Yes, and don't bother fighting! We are already dead, nothing can stop us!" laughed a bearded soldier with an arrow stuck into his right eye._

_Balian watched in horror as the corpses started moving towards him with the weapons held up high and then he found himself alone in the desert. The scorching heat was suffocating and the sun was beating on mercilessly on the lost man. The ghost soldiers were replaced by Mummad al-Fais, the Saracen knight who had attacked him shortly after his shipwreck. His throat was slashed open and blood was maculating the front of his beautiful robes, it was a dead man looking at Balian with furious eyes!_

"_I want a rematch!" yelled Mummad al-Fais. "I want a rematch!"_

"_I have no desire to fight!" shouted back Balian, but the Saracen cavalier paid him no heed and kept on asking for another duel. All of a sudden, Saladin's soldiers were charging right at him, like during the battle of Kerak, while thousands of villagers were running for their lives, carrying their meager possessions in carts or on camels' back._

_Balian turned over to find help yet he was still alone in the desert with no horse, no sword and no men. The soldiers suddenly vanished and he was staring at King Baldwin IV and Princess Sybilla who had appeared like ghosts._

"_Will you come to our aid as we are defenseless?" asked the king but before Balian could answer he found himself in a middle of a war zone, surrounded by dead bodies and burning tents. Camels and animals were running in all directions and, at a moment, Balian could see a dark horse being swallowed by the sand, moving and acting like an enormous, greedy mouth._

_The sun became so huge it looked as it has filled the whole sky, burning the last remains of slaughtered humans. Balian knew he was dying: he walked like a crippled man toward a little patch of green grass, which was miraculously surviving under the suffocating heat. His legs felt like lead and he could barely keep his eyes open. Once he had reached the grassy field, he promptly collapsed._

"_Balian… Balian…"_

_The wind's voice again… but where was he? Balian looked up to see he was lying in a barley field. The beautiful Saracen lady was there, watching him with mournful eyes over her ripened veil. She has still clutching her bouquet of barley ears in her right hand. He tried to smile, to tell her everything would be all right…_

"_Balian?" asked a strong, masculine voice._

_The fallen man turned over as much as his weary body would allow him to do so to see… Godfrey of Ibelin, kneeling next to him!_

_That was impossible. Impossible! But how could Balian ever forget this battle-weary face lined with age and sorrow? It was really his father, looking down at him with his clear, sad blue eyes. He was still clothed in the long white shirt he was wearing during Balian's dubbing. Godfrey gathered his child in his arms, cradling the young man's upper body in his long, muscular arms, nestling Balian's head against his strong chest._

_Rising a shaky hand, Balian managed to caress Godfrey's face with trembling fingers._

"_Papa…"_

_"You do very well, my Balian. I am proud of you." Godfrey said before lightly kissing his son's forehead._

-------------------------

**(Some time later)**

Imad's eyes snapped open: has he had fallen asleep? A quick glance at the sky told him the stars have indeed moved from the last time he had looked at them. The air was chillier and the men's voices have quieted down.

_Ibelin!_

Jumping on his feet, Imad rushed to the young Christian's bedside and to his surprise he could see the wounded man was sleeping peacefully, the ghost of a small smile on his lips. Imad pressed his hand to Ibelin's pale brow covered with perspiration and he didn't feel the heat he had come accustomed to expect. The fever has broken during the night.

"You never cease to amaze me, my friend" whispered the secretary. "I hope you will awaken soon, as I have lot of questions to ask you."

Like, for example, why Ibelin was clutching this barley ear in his hand as if it was a lifeline?


	10. Awakenings

**Disclaimer**: the same as in Chapter 1.

Chapter 9 

_**(Balian's POW)**_

_(I am walking on an interminable grassy field alongside my father, who was using his huge cloak to shelter us both from the tempest. Winds are threatening to blow our clothes off our bodies and the rain is pouring down, yet we didn't care as we were together. My father is keeping his cloak above our heads and I cannot stop smiling as I look at his face. This man is my father, MY father, Godfrey of Ibelin! I have finally found the man who gave me life!_

_We keep on walking side-by-side, and out of impulse I dare circling his waist with my arm to be closer to him. My other arm wraps itself around Godfrey's belly and I give him a quick hug. I don't know how my father, a lord, will react about this sudden show of affection. He looks surprised but the next moment, I have my father's arm around my shoulders in a tight lock._

"_My Balian" says Godfrey, and those words give me a warm feeling, like a flower blooming in my heart. I have never felt anything like this before, still I know I had missed it all my life._

_The winds are getting worse and it is raining so hard I can barely see the outlines of Godfrey's face now. All of a sudden, I feel a sharp pain and my hand clutches my side. I try to call out to my father but I get entangled with the protective cloak like a ship's sails during a raging storm. I remember my shipwreck, the terror among the passengers, my thoughts about disappearing in a watery grave, unmourned and forgotten._

"_Father!"_

_After a furious struggle I managed to get my head out of the fabric, which is now protecting only myself. The sky is darker than Hell and I am alone, hugging Godfrey's cloak to me like a lifeline and the rain is falling in my face, mixing itself with my tears._

"_Father! Father!" I cry desperately, but I know Godfrey is dead. He died in a chapel at Messina right after my knighting, with barely the time to acknowledge me officially as his son and heir. Godfrey is dead but I want to see him again!_

_Nature rages around me and I have nothing to protect me with, except Godfrey's cloak. I wrap myself with it as I know I have to keep on going if I want to escape this tempest and reach safety. _

_Brokenhearted, I start to walk the path on my own… when I hear Godfrey's voice, telling me: "Reach out for the sun, Balian!"_

_I turn around furiously, hoping to see Godfrey once again. But there is nothing to see except dark skies, pouring rain… and rays of sunshine breaking through the stormy clouds! I smile as I take my hand out of the cloak, reaching for the sun. The light is getting brighter and brighter, I know I can do it! I can achieve this goal, I can walk into the sunlight, and I can….)_

My heart is thudding furiously against my ribs as I wake up, just to be half-blinded by the sunlight. I close my eyes in a reflex while thinking that maybe trying to reach out the sun wasn't such a good idea. But why did Godfrey tell me to do so? What was so important to be seen? Does it have a relation with the pain I am feeling right now?

My eyes are opening again and this time, looking at the light is less difficult. The shooting pains I feel on my right side hurt much more! My vision readjusts itself quickly and I can see I am lying beneath a dark-colored tent, just like the time I woke up after being wounded at my lord's wars in France. But something isn't right. There are embroidered cushions under my head; as I painfully push down the soft blankets covering me, I can see the wound on my side has been wrapped in white, clean linens instead of dirty and bloody ones. This is the strangest surgeon's tent I have ever been in!

"Ah, Ibelin! Are you feeling better?"

Startled, I turn my head toward the voice and I cannot believe my eyes: the Saracen knight who spared my life at the battle of Kerak is at my bedside!

I try to move, to reach out to him to make sure he wasn't a dream but that simple effort exhausts me. He puts his hand on my brow to feel for a temperature and this contact tells me the man is very real.

"No, stay still, Ibelin!" he says. "The fever has broken but you took a nasty wound, moving too quickly will only end up in pulling the stitches. You will need to stay put and keep your strength until the physicians allow you to get up. But worry not, they are confident you will recover."

"Is it really you?"

The Saracen gives me a kind smile, before answering: "Yes it's me, Ibelin."

"But… What are you doing in France?" I ask.

The knight's blue eyes widen in amazement, then he laughs: "France? You are not in your homeland, Ibelin! We are about a hundred miles north from Jerusalem! Don't you remember what happened to you?"

Why does he call me Ibelin?

_Ibelin…_

_"I am Godfrey, the Baron of Ibelin."_

All in a sudden, mixed memories flash into my mind: my father; the shipwreck; the leper king; Tiberias, my Ibelin lands; Guy de Lusignan; the battle of Kerak; Sybilla begging me to marry her and my refusal to provoke a civil war within Jerusalem.

_The attack in the desert…._

_Renaud de Châtillon…_

_The lady!_

I grab the knight's wrist in a panic, remembering the beautiful Saracen lady holding a bouquet of barley ears and surrounded by bloodthirsty Templar knights, in the shambles of her devastated camp. I try to sit up as I remember my duty to protect that lady, but the movement was too abrupt and I only manage to wince in pain!

"No, Ibelin, stay still, I'm telling you! What's wrong?"

I lay back down on the embroidered cushions as waves of pain are running through my torso. I am not used to pillows and the seductive softness is already lulling me back into sleep but I fight this dizziness, as I want to know what fate has befallen the woman.

"The lady… The barley field lady who was with me!" I have trouble forming words and I feel as weak as a newborn colt. I don't know if I am making any sense to the Saracen: maybe he'll think I am having a fever dream!

But the man seems to understand, as a glint of humor lightens his blue eyes: "Is she the one who gave you this? He asks, holding out a crumpled barley ear in his hand.

I nod, and his smile widens: "You have been clutching this weed for three days now, only a few hours did I managed to pry it from your fingers. The barley field lady, as you call her, is Princess Yasmina, sister to my Master Salah-al-Din. She told us all about the raid on her caravan and you rescuing her from Prince Arnat al-Kerak after you arrived in my lord's camp. "

"Salah-al-Din?"

"Yes, you are in his camp. But like I've said, you have nothing to worry about, Ibelin. My Master is eternally grateful to you for saving the life of his sister, and he has made known very clearly to all his men that you are his guest. I pity the fool who tries to forget his direct orders! He placed you under my protection, and I daresay I take this assignment very seriously."

"Her name is Yasmina?"

"Yes, and she calls you Mika'il. In your language it means 'Michael', like the archangel! I am Imad al-Din, by the way, the personal secretary of my lord Salah-al-Din."

Will wonders ever cease? I am currently staying in the camp of King Baldwin IV's most formidable foe, being tended to by his secretary after saving a princess' life? I have a hard time realizing all this and my current state of health isn't helping. Lord Imad rests his hand on my eyelids and effectively closes them, urging me to get more rest.

Just before falling asleep, I manage to say: "My first name is Balian…"

But I do not know if Lord Imad has heard me.


	11. An interesting walk

**Disclaimer**: the same as in Chapter 1.

**Author's notes:**

'_Melek'_ is the Arabic word for _'King'_

**Chapter 10**

_**(Imad's POW)**_

Allah is great! My lord Salah al-Din's physicians have pronounced Ibelin for being 'on the mend'. His side wound is healing nicely without any signs of infection and the fever has broken, which was the most feared, as it can be more lethal than any sword or arrow. The physicians have even said Ibelin should be allowed to walk for a little while today, under my supervision of course, in order to help him regain some of his strength.

My Master Salah al-Din has left for Jerusalem two days ago, with Princess Yasmina and fifty of his most trusted men as his escort. There, he will ask for an audience with Melek Baldwin IV and ask for Prince Arnat al-Kerak's head for his treacheries. This time, the leper child-king will have no choices than to grant my Master's wishes. The testimony of Princess Yasmina will be the final stitch in De Châtillon's shroud, assuming he would receive one! This bloodthirsty, arrogant red-haired pig deserves nothing but shame and a painful death after he has ruthlessly massacred hundreds of innocents, compromised the peace treaty my lord and the king have concluded, and dared to attack Princess Yasmina on her way to Damascus back from Cairo. I dare not imagine what would have happened to her without Ibelin's intervention!

For four days now, the young Christian has been resting under my tent. His presence is well known in the encampment but every man is aware that he benefits from both my lord Salah al-Din's protection and mine. I have stayed at Ibelin's bedside most of the time, leaving only to fulfill my duties – and even then, I entrusted Ahmed, my loyal servant, to act as Ibelin's bodyguard and caretaker. Not that I was worried the Christian would give me the slip – he was sleeping most of the time –, just following my own advice about being wary of any kind of bloodletting initiative from one of our soldiers.

I have found a walking stick to help my guest to accomplish his first steps, and I will lead him to our stables, where his gray horse has been tended. According to Ahmed, this stallion has been missing its master: a reunion will do well to both of them!

-------------------------------------

_(Later)_

Well, it has been an interesting walk!

We left my tent by taking a few, cautious steps. Ibelin's hand was leaning heavily on the walking stick and he was clutching his side, and for a moment I thought he was going to fall on his face. I offered my help but he shook his head, saying he would be fine in a few moments.

I was doubtful, thinking the physicians may have been too optimistic in their promises of recovery, but by the time we have reached the place where our horses are fed and watered, Ibelin was indeed looking a bit better. His gray stallion was munching a mouthful of hay along with the other horses, yet it neighed loudly when it saw its master approaching, instantly forgetting its lunch.

"Sounds like you've been sorely missed, Ibelin!" I joked, even if deep down I was a bit amazed by the loyalty of the animal toward the young Christian.

Ibelin walked a bit unsteadily towards his horse, reaching out his hand to pet the velvety muzzle. The stallion snorted softly, resting its head on his master's shoulder as Ibelin spoke calming words to its ears. Ahmed told me the grooms have found this animal 'nervous', 'difficult to tend to' but it looks like the Christian knight has a way with horses!

"You know your horses, for sure!" I exclaimed.

Ibelin had a small smile, and answered: "I do… I have shod so many of them!"

Shod? Now that was a surprising piece of information! At the moment, I thought Ibelin was humoring me so I decided to play along. "You have farrier's skills? Is it part of a nobleman's son education in France?" I half-jokingly asked.

Ibelin did not respond at once. He kept on petting his horse, then he finally said: "Actually, I am a blacksmith."

This time, I really thought he was pulling my leg, but one look at his face told me Ibelin was telling the truth. But how in the name of God could it be possible? This man was a knight, the son of a rich lord, the champion of Princess Yasmina and – if I've heard correctly the rumors flying through Jerusalem – the winner of Princess Sybilla's heart as well. I confess I have laughed myself silly when I heard those rumors, wishing them to be true! What a good joke! But how could Ibelin be a blacksmith as well?

The young Christian sighed before turning to me, and said: "Imad, my mother was not of noble origin. He was a lord, she was a peasant, working as a washerwoman…"

His voice hesitated, but he didn't need to provide me with further details. I could feel my blood turning into ice in my veins. This chivalrous enemy and courageous warrior is the product of… _a violation_? I would never have thought Godfrey of Ibelin capable of such an abomination! I hate rapists, may they be of noble origins or humble peasants. Any time one of our soldiers have done this evil deed, either in wartime or in peace, I've had him paid the ultimate price.

Ibelin could see the confusion on my face, so he rushed to correct: "No, Imad, he didn't force her! My father was getting ready to leave for Jerusalem, and my mother was young, very beautiful. When he met her, she was flattered, bedazzled; he was like a brilliant shooting star in the dark night of her life. Their tryst was discreet, but when she found out she was with child, she was panic-stricken. The village's gossips started to fly around about her pregnancy and her mysterious lover. That's when Balian the blacksmith stepped up, offering my mother marriage."

"But the villagers couldn't leave them alone, could they?" I asked with a point of bitterness, knowing all too well how people, whatever their religion may be, love to slander out-of-wedlock children and their mothers!

"No. My stepfather gave me his name, his protection and his affection, but I got branded 'bastard' as soon as I was born. It got even worse when my half-brother added his own taunts to the villagers', like 'Devil's spawn'!"

The gray stallion nudged his master's shoulder. "Sorry, boy, I have no treat for you." Turning, Ibelin stroke his horse's muzzle again as I was mulling over those incredible revelations. Once more, this young man has succeeded in amazing me. I didn't care about him being born illegitimate, his courage and nobleness of mind have spoken for his valor far more loudly than any title or rank. I will never forget how he spared my life in the desert, and his generous gift of his horse and my freedom once we have reached Jerusalem.

But I could easily see in my mind the scandal and uproar within the Jerusalem royal court about Ibelin's presence among some of the richest and well-born Christian lords of the Holy Land. And I even had a hard time suppressing a laugh when I imagined the look on Lord De Lusignan's face when he heard about his wife being with this young man!

I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder. "Ibelin, as far as I'm concerned, you _are_ Godfrey's son. And my Master, Salah al-Din, has an enlightened spirit as he values a man's qualities rather than his title or his riches. "

Ibelin's dark brown eyes held a flashing light of gratitude, then he had barely time to say "Thank you" before his legs started giving up on him. I caught him just in time, put his arm around my shoulders so he could lean on me for support and I declared it was high time for my guest to be brought back to his quarters. Ibelin didn't protest, just nodded and we slowly walked back to my tent. I could see the Christian was sweating and he was stumbling blearily, barely able to use the walking stick, exhausted by both his ordeal and our conversation.

Just when we arrived at my tent's entrance, Ibelin raised his head and I could see a look of alarm on his face as he watched something across the camp. I turned my head to see our young imam was back from his duties my Master has assigned him, namely burying De Châtillon's latest victims, and he was looking at us with venomous eyes. Sure, the sight of us wasn't made to please him: me helping an enemy to get back on his feet!

"Imad? Who is this man?" asked Ibelin.

I shot back an angry glance at the imam, who turned his back and walked out with such contempt that I would have given him a piece of my mind if I hadn't been supporting Ibelin!

"He's an imam… a man of God." I answered.

The young knight said nothing more, but his face turned into stone and I understood he didn't have previous good experiences with God's servants. How could he, after his being born illegitimate and a peasant? But I was pretty crossed at our imam who had so deliberately disrespected in public one of my Master's guests!

-------------------------------------

_(Later)_

All this happened this afternoon. Now it is night and Ibelin has fallen asleep hours ago, worn out by the efforts he did today. I entrusted him to Ahmed's care and I went for a ride with Antares, as I needed to get out of the encampment's atmosphere for a while.

After riding for an hour or so, I stopped to look at the stars, twinkling in the dark sky. Like my Master, I have always found great calm and joy watching God's most amazing mysteries displayed for all of us mortals to see. The stars' names sprang into my mind as I recognized them: Altair, Deneb, Vega, Aldebaran, Rigel, Betelgeuse, Antares, Sirius, and the constellations: Big Dipper, Lyre, Swan, Eagle, Hunter… oh, how brilliantly I see you shine in the desert sky!

I find myself watching the stars displayed in the Southern Hemisphere, in the direction of Jerusalem, and I pray Allah to grant my lord Salah al-Din success in his journey and a safe return among us.


	12. Yasmina

**Disclaimer**: the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

- In the movie "Kingdom of heaven", Saladin's sister is played by actress Giannina Facio, who happens to be Sir Ridley Scott's life partner.

- '_Melek'_ is the Arabic word for _'King'._

This chapter is dedicated to Sunniva, PadawanCassy and Smithy for their kind reviews. Thank you!

**Chapter 12**

_**(Princess Yasmina's POW)**_

It has been ten days now I have been attacked by Prince Arnat al-Kerak and his cohorts on my way back to Damascus from Cairo. I still have a hard time wrapping my mind around what had happened and I suffer from nightmares almost every night since the slaughter. My brother, my family, even the humblest servant, all have been here to give me support and consolation through my ordeal but, even now, I cannot help but dreading another attack anytime.

We are riding back to Salah al-Dìn encampment after a short stay in Jerusalem. As soon as our presence has been known, Melek Baldwin IV opened wide the gates of his palace and granted us an audience. I must confess I had been intimidated at first by the crowd of court members gathered in the Great Hall: Raymond of Tripoli, Lord of Tiberias and governor of Jerusalem. Patriarch Heraclius and his clerks. Princess Sybilla and her dangerous husband, Guy de Lusignan. Barons and ladies, Templars, clerks, ladies-in-waiting, servants. And, above everyone else, seated on his throne under a dais, the King, Baldwin IV, regally clad in white robes and wearing a silver mask on his face.

The herald announced loud and clear: "Salah al-Din Ibn Ayyub, King of Syria and Egypt, and his sister, Her Highness Princess Yasmina!" and the Great Hall started buzzing like an overturned hive. I was dressed with black silken robes and veil, and wearing discreet but expensive jewelry, looking like a queen in mourning. It wasn't a show, though: my heart was still crying for our murdered people and it will take me time to overcome my grief. But I was resolute to confront my attackers and, above everything, to ask for justice.

My brother saluted Melek Baldwin IV with impressive dignity and politeness, and I could see the Christian king's eyes smiling beneath his mask. As wrenched as he is, Baldwin is a formidable enemy and Salah has always respected brave men. Then, my brother created quite a commotion when he asked the King for a private audience!

After a tempest of protestations, shocked questions, cries of challenges has erupted, the leper king raised a gloved hand to calm down the barons and told Lord Tiberias to clear the Great Hall, including his sister, his brother-in-law and Heraclius, patriarch of Jerusalem. The courtiers went away quietly but with murmured protests. Guy de Lusignan took Princess Sybilla by the arm and gave us such a loathed look I felt a shiver running down my spine: Guy de Lusignan is hand in glove with the Templars, long-time allies of Prince Arnat al-Kerak. He walked out of the Great Hall with such an outraged look on his face, as if he had been personally insulted by King Baldwin IV. Patriarch Heraclius had to be thrown out of the room by force, he protested loud and clear he would never betray his king's confidence. As money-hungry as he is known all over Syria, that was a laugh!

Finally, the Great Hall was cleared of everyone except Salah, Melek Baldwin, Lord Tiberias, and myself.

"This is as private as it can be," said King Baldwin IV coolly. "Now, Lord Salah al-Dìn, what would you want to say to me?"

Salah then told the king and Lord Tiberias about Prince Arnat al-Kerak latest evil deed: the attack on my caravan, the murder of our people, the mistreatments I have suffered at his hands.

Lord Tiberias was livid! He was gripping the hilt of his sword and his scarred eye was glittering with anger. He is an old soldier who had fought all his life in the Holy Land, defending the king and his family since he had reached knighthood, and with a reputation of integrity and honor that could bring thousands of lords to shame, a "Self-righteous pest" for his enemies. Salah referred him once as _"The only able man who could rule the Holy Land after the passing of the king_", even if he knows Lord Tiberias would never try to seize the throne and create a dynasty of his own.

After Salah has finished, Melek Baldwin IV then asked: "How did Princess Yasmina escaped the clutches of Renaud de Châtillon and his minions?"

"My sister will answer your question, my lord" answered Salah. Melek Baldwin then turned his attention to me and I tried very hard to not imagine the state of his hidden face. Instead, I gathered all my courage to overcome my shyness and told, in clear and truthful terms, about the apparition of my miraculous champion, the young Christian knight. How he has slain my tormentors, injured Prince Arnat al-Kerak and got wounded in the process, and our flight in the desert until we reached safety at my brother's encampment.

A long silence followed my testimony; the leper king and Lord Tiberias exchanged an incredulous look, like they quite couldn't believe my words. My story sounded too fantastic to be believed, so I quickly added: "I swear on my faith to Allah the Merciful that I tell the truth!"

Then Melek Baldwin asked with a very soft voice: "My lady… Do you happen to know the name of this Christian knight?"

I almost answered "_Mika'il_"_, so_ I quickly changed to say: "Balian, baron of Ibelin". But in my heart he is still my beautiful angel, one of God's messengers.

"Balian!" exclaimed Lord Tiberias in astonishment while Baldwin IV looked up, startled by my declaration. "But how is it possible? What happened?"

Then Salah smiled at the expression of amazement on the governor's face: "I do not know yet how this young man's path crossed with my sister's, but there are no doubts in my mind it was an act of God. Young Ibelin saved my sister from torture and defilement at Prince Arnat al-Kerak's hands at the cost of his own safety, and he will know the depths of my gratitude as soon as he will recover from his wounds."

"Is he gravely wounded, my lord?" asked King Baldwin IV with much concern in his voice, muffled by the silver mask. I could also see the anguish in Lord Tiberias' eyes. Later, I have learned Lord Tiberias was a close friend of Mika'il's father and the governor of Jerusalem considered the young man as his protégé, almost like a son.

"He was stabbed in the side by that snake al-Kerak, but my physicians have managed to save his life. He is now resting at my encampment under the protection of Imad, my personal secretary, and twenty of my most trusted knights."

Then, my brother's voice turned into steel, and asked for Prince Arnat al-Kerak's head!

I was most surprised when it was granted, at once.

Salah has expected Melek Badwin would refuse, or stall, or plead for the Prince's life in order to prevent a rebellion among his vassals, led by De Lusignan. After the battle of Kerak has happened, Prince Arnat was thrown in jail by direct order of the leper king. But he escaped the dungeons with the help of accomplices, and tried to return to his Kerak fortress before fleeing back to Europe. On his way back to his lands, he decided he needed travelling money so he attacked a small caravan: what's bred in the bone will come out in the flesh! Unfortunately for him, this time the caravan was guarded by some of Lord Tiberias' men, who killed Prince Arnat's men on the spot and brought him back to Jerusalem, in chains.

Melek Baldwin was outraged Prince Arnat al-Kerak made a mockery of his authority, and he had already decided this disloyal, hateful, troublemaker lord would pay for his crimes. My testimony will write the final chapter on his death sentence. The leper king's sentence was without appeal, to be applied for the next day.

We stayed at Melek Baldwin's palace during the night as guests of honor. I stayed in Princess Sybilla's apartments and she asked me thousands of questions about Mika'il, his intervention, his wounds, his stay at Salah's camp. At first I was a bit appealed by her concern over a knight, but her eyes and body language betrayed her: Princess Sybilla is in love with Mika'il. She told me the young baron has won the respect of her brother and Lord Tiberias with his honesty and courage, both qualities greatly appreciated in his father, the late Godfrey of Ibelin. Herself had sought refuge in the fortress of Kerak shortly before the battle and she witnessed the whole fight. She told me about my champion's stand against my brother's troops with only a handful of his men to protect unarmed villagers.

I wasn't surprised at all when Princess Sybilla gave me the account of Mika'il's heroic deeds. The young man is an angel to my eyes, an envoy from God, that's no wonder he should fight to protect the helpless and innocent. When I retired for the night, I prayed Allah to grant Mika'il a complete recovery and a long life filled with happiness, a loving wife and healthy children.

Now we are heading back to Salah's encampment, but this time we have two other guests riding with us: Lord Tiberias and a Hospitaler monk.

After the execution, my brother made clear he couldn't stay in Jerusalem for long and Melek Baldwin granted us a fully armed escort under the direct command of Lord Tiberias. The governor seems very eager to bring the baron of Ibelin back to Jerusalem with him. The leper king himself was impatient to see the young man, too, and Salah graciously accepted Lord Tiberias to come with us.

My brother was more surprised when Lord Tiberias asked if a Hospitaler monk could come with us! Salah doesn't appreciate much those monk-soldiers, skilled in both the arts of healing and warring: they remind him too much of the Templars, the allies of Guy de Lusignan! Lord Tiberias explained this Hospitaler used to be Godfrey of Ibelin's personal confessor and spiritual mentor. He was like _"a friend of the family"_ so Salah finally relented. I thought this monk was the strangest Christian I've ever met: short straw-colored hair and beard, laughing eyes, enigmatic smile, quiet manners, clad in a dark robe with a white cross painted on his chest. In fact, he gave me the impression he already knew the future of the Holy Land!

I didn't get his name and somehow, I even doubt he has one.


	13. Tiberias

**Disclaimer**: the same as chapter 1

**Author's notes:**

I am very sorry for the recent lack of updates, but RL (namely the office, studies and term papers) got in the way! I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter.

I'd like to thank Redone and E Nigma for their kind reviews. It was much appreciated! ;-)

**Chapter 13**

_**(Tiberias' POW)**_

If anyone had told me I'd be traveling in the desert in the company of Salah al-Dìn, I would have said they were crazy!

At times I think I actually went crazy since I, Raymond of Tripoli, Lord of Tiberias, _am_ currently riding my horse across the desert, accompanied by five of my knights in the scorching heat, and in the company of my king's best enemy!

But the hypothesis of a mental illness isn't important right now: my lord King has sent me on a retrieving mission. To pick up Balian of Ibelin, who is currently staying in Salah al-Dìn's encampment after saving the life of a Saracen princess.

Two days ago, Salah al-Dìn entered Jerusalem under a flag of peace, to ask King Baldwin IV for an audience. That created quite a commotion within the palace's walls! In spite of the hypocrite protestations from the most belligerent courtiers, namely Guy de Lusignan and his cohorts, the king granted Salah al-Dìn his wish, even if he was pretty surprised as well. Then, the king of Syria told my lord liege about a horrific event, the attack of his sister's caravan by Renaud de Châtillon and the rescue of Princess Yasmina by Godfrey's son.

I am an old soldier and I have seen my share of terrible deeds in battlefields. I became governor of Jerusalem just to be thrown into the tangled web of politics, conspiracies, executions and injustices to the point I've thought many times to grab my family and flee to Cyprus while it was still time. I fought all my life in the Holy Land and in the process I've lost my innocence, my illusions and my faith. I thought I had lost my capacity for amazement, too, but I've been proven wrong since Balian has arrived in Jerusalem!

The sun is beating on us mercilessly. I take a quick drink of water, as years of fighting have taught me how dangerous it is to drink too greedily in the desert, and then I ask how much road we still have ahead of us. Through an interpreter, I learn we will arrive to our destination in a very short time.

I will never forget the first time I've laid eyes on Balian. Apart from his striking resemblance to Godfrey (which has startled me, I must confess), he has definitively knighthood in his blood by his conscience, good heart and intelligence. A far better soldier than all of those so-called nobles interested only in rapines and bloodshed! He has proved his value time and time again, by taking care of his Ibelin lands and by his fighting at the Kerak fortress. Hell, Balian even gave King Baldwin IV and me a lesson in honesty when he refused to marry Princess Sybilla at the expense of Guy de Lusignan!

At first, I was furious by his decision. Why he wouldn't marry a woman he loves, and protects Jerusalem at the same time from enemies within and outside our walls? But I thought about it, and he was right: as tempting as this proposition was, it was morally unacceptable. Besides, marrying Princess Sybilla to Balian would have provoked a civil war within our city, since Guy de Lusignan would grab his sword on the spot rather than divorce his wife. Not to mention that he'd never agree to swear an oath of allegiance to his rival, who would have been crowned Prince consort of Jerusalem instead of him! De Lusignan, like his late friend Renaud de Châtillon, has many allies and the financial means to conspire. As powerful as I am, I wouldn't have been able to keep Balian safe from assassins' daggers.

It was an impossible plan from the beginning, a dangerous illusion, and now I am glad Balian has refused it. When Princess Yasmina told us the amazing tale of her rescue, both the king and I were flabbergasted. The best roses definitively grow on dunghills! Once again, Balian has proven by his altruism that he's a far better man than the rest of us, just like his father. That's why I asked King Baldwin IV permission to leave in order to collect this… _pure diamond_ back to Jerusalem where he belongs, and it was accorded at once. I _must_ see Balian with my own eyes to reassure myself he's alive and safe!

I feel eyes watching me, and sure enough it's Brother Michael staring at me with his laughing eyes. That Hospitaler monk can be unnerving! Sometimes, I think he has the ability to read other people's minds.

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We have reached Salah al-Dìn's camp! His men – so many of them! – greet their king and Princess Yasmina with much enthusiasm, but it is not long before their eyes widen in stupor. Well, it must not be often that a Christian lord, who happens to be the Governor of Jerusalem as well, comes to visit their camp.

I have talked about this with Salah al-Dìn himself, just before we left Jerusalem, and we both agreed my visit at his encampment should be short. The King of Syria was a bit sorry about this, he wanted to give me a proper welcome but, given the war-like situation, it would have been impossible. Yet, he insisted we should stay overnight and that I'd have dinner with him under his tent, along with Balian as a thank-you gift. I do not fear about my security, mind you: Salah al-Dìn is an honorable man. And the knights of my escort are trusted, reasonable men: not the kind of undisciplined fools who'd create a ruckus within an enemy's camp just for the fun of it!

Salah al-Dìn, still seated on his magnificent black horse, gives a short speech to his men in Arabic, gesturing towards my men and myself. By the corner of my eye, I can see Princess Yasmina has dismounted. She is lead quietly and discreetly to a tent, followed by a flock of women clad head to toes in long robes and veils; by no doubts, these are her ladies-in-waiting.

Salah al-Dìn dismounts, and then walks calmly towards his huge tent. A young man clad in luxurious robes and with sparkling, intelligent blue eyes is standing nearby, ready to greet his master. After they have exchanged _'Salam Aleikum'_, Salah al-Dìn whispers a word to the young man's ear, who bows respectfully just before the Syrian king retires in the company of his suite, and then addresses to me:

"Lord Tiberias, greetings. It is an honor to meet the Governor of Jerusalem in person. I am Imad al-Dìn and I have the privilege to be Lord Salah al-Dìn's secretary. His majesty has asked me to lead you to the baron of Ibelin, our guest. If you will please follow me?"

"It would be my pleasure, Lord Imad. But what about my men?" I answer, gesturing to my escort and Brother Michael.

"Do not burden your mind with worries, my lord. Our Master, Salah al-Dìn, has ordered your men to receive food and appropriate treatment. Their horses will be tended to, as well. And no one would even _try_ to disobey a direct order from our Master."

I give short instructions to my men, who dismount quietly and efficiently before being led to their accommodations. They are probably as curious about Salah al-Dìn's men as the Saracens are about us. As usual, Brother Michael seems to be perfectly at ease with this awkward situation, but right now I don't care since my mind is set on retrieving King Baldwin's favorite knight.

My attention is drawn towards a young man coming out from a nearby tent, unsure on his feet. He's clad in a Saracen's embroidered white tunic and he's leaning on a walking stick. His dark, long hair hides his features but then he raises his head and I can hardly believe my own eyes!

"Balian!" I call out in surprise.

Disheveled, thinner, pale… and beautiful as ever, God is my witness. Balian is the spitting image of Godfrey coming back from a hard-won battle.

I throw rank and protocol to the winds and embrace Balian in a bone-crushing hug, like I would do to my long-lost son. The young man stiffens in surprise, but a heartbeat later I can feel his arms encircling me and tightening as well. I hear a few quiet chuckles among the crowd of Saracens around us but I don't care how does it looks like! We separate after a while and I cannot help but try to get a better look at him: I'm just so relieved to see him on his feet!

"Balian, ought you to be up and about so soon? What did the doctors say?"

"Thank you for your concern, Lord Tiberias. The doctors here are very skilled, they have managed to close the wound and there is no trace of infection. I just feel kind of sore, actually, thus preventing me from walking too quickly. But by what kind of prodigy are you here?"

"No prodigy here, dear lad. Lord Salah al-Dìn came to Jerusalem to ask the king for justice. He told us all about the attack on Princess Yasmina by that red-bearded worm De Châtillon, and how you have managed to save her from a terrible fate. De Châtillon won't give us any trouble now… or ever. King Baldwin's justice was swift."

A glimpse of emotion appears in Balian's dark gaze, revealing once again his great heart. Being executed on the gallows is a lousy way to die, even for unrepentant, monstrous murderers. I've got to admit De Châtillon's beheading gave me a sense of satisfaction: Guy de Lusignan has lost his best ally so his permanent conspiracies against King Baldwin have been compromised at last. And for all his defiance, De Châtillon died cursing and yelling till the very end, squealing like a pig facing the butcher, giving us a very poor show of the 'noble' status he bragged about for years. Well, that wasn't surprising, was it?

"His Highness, King Baldwin IV sent me here to bring you back to Jerusalem. He is most impatient to see you again since your heroic deed brought us a renewal of the peace treaty signed with Salah al-Dìn. De Lusignan and his Templar friends are muzzled by now, giving us some more time to think about the king's succession."

Lord Imad's soft voice suddenly rises:

"My lords, would you please do me the honor to enter my tent?"

I turn toward the Saracen knight – in my eagerness to see Balian, I've completely forgotten about him! Balian smiles at me, and says:

"Lord Imad has been kind enough to be my host and my caretaker when I was brought here. He took an active part in my recovery."

"Then I am indebted to you, my lord, for saving the life of my nephew." I answer

Lord Imad's eyes widen in surprise and I can hear a small gasp escaping from Balian's mouth. But I will never take my words back: Godfrey was my brother-in-arms; his son is the nephew of my heart.

I am an old soldier with a straightforward personality and a life filled with conflicts of many kinds, and if my time in the Holy Land has ever taught me something, it's to recognize a man's worth in a blink of an eye. This Lord Imad is an intelligent man, and I do sense there is a history between him and Balian.

The Saracen knight smiles and gestures towards his tent's entrance. Balian leads the way in and I follow through, one of my hands resting on his shoulder.


	14. A little note

Author's note :

Due to an upcoming Christmas vacation, I won't be able to post new chapters before January 2007.

I take this opportunity to wish my wonderful reviewers and readers a merry Christmas with your family and friends and a great new year 2007!

**Happy holidays!**


	15. Farewell to the king and the lady

Chapter 14 

**Disclaimer**: the same as in Chapter 1!

**Author's note**: this is the conclusion of the story, and I'd like to thank my wonderful reviewers for taking the time and care to send their appreciation! Very special thanks to PadawanCassy, Sunniva and Matteic.

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**_(Salah-al-Din's POW) _**

It is the dawn of a new day, and Lord Tiberias is getting ready to leave my encampment, along with his knights, the Hospitaler monk and Balian of Ibelin, son of Godfrey.

Imad and I are standing nearby the entrance of my tent, and I am sad our warfare circumstances have prevented me to give young Ibelin the full extend of my gratitude towards him. If our countries weren't enemies, I would have given him a prince-like treatment in my Damascus palace! But war will be here soon, with its usual tangled web of alliances, deceptions, conspiracies, rumors and distrusts. Many warlords I know would never understand why I allowed a Christian knight to stay a few days at my camp to recover from his injuries… and even less why I let him go free without asking for a ransom.

I'd rather be damned to the seven depths of Hell than dishonor myself in such a fashion, keeping my sister's savior as a hostage! Unfortunately Imad is right, some of my own men definitively resent Ibelin's presence in my camp – I am especially thinking about our young and ambitious mullah, who has been throwing venomous glares at the Christian ever since he was able to walk again.

The best way to keep Yasmina's champion safe is to send him away. It's like setting free a caged bird: a part of you rejoices at its gained freedom, yet you know you will miss its presence in your life. I glance at Imad and I can see that he's also concerned about Ibelin leaving so soon, not fully recovered from the wounds Prince Arnat al-Kerak have inflicted him. Knowing my secretary, he would have enjoyed endless conversations with Ibelin about life, our countries, and hawk hunting!

The young Christian has goodness within his soul and his heart, thus making him give fair treatment towards men and women of any religion. I remember his father, Godfrey, and how he has fought my armies with great courage and intelligence. Yet, there is a difference between Godfrey and Balian: the father reached virtue only at the end of his life. The son is born virtuous: his actions are led by his enlightened soul. He will succeed where his father has failed.

Isn't it amazing how our past deeds find their ways in our present and future? The issue of a man I've fought years ago saves my dear sister's life! According to Yasmina, the young man is a _malak_ (angel), which is why she keeps on calling him _'Mika'il'_ even if she had learned his real name long ago. She hasn't seen him since he was brought to my camp, due to discretion and cautiousness women have to follow in a warriors' encampment, but she's a smart and resourceful lady: she will find a way to bid him farewell!

I sigh, cursing inwardly those war times for the thousandth time. Yet, I also give thanks to Allah for allowing me to meet this interesting man. I can only hope the trinkets I've ordered to be discreetly deposited in Ibelin's saddlebags – pearls, diamonds and sapphires – will give the young baron a glimpse of my gratitude toward him. It will also give him the opportunity to go back to France rich and safe, before war turns the Holy Land into a bloodbath, but somehow I doubt he will turn from his duty to protect the weak and defenseless.

The Christian knights have mounted, as well as the Hospitaler monk. Lord Tiberias comes up to me with Ibelin in tow – still looking pale and worn out from his ordeal, yet holding his head up high – and thank me again for taking care of his protégé. I politely protest, assuring Lord Tiberias my hospitality was inadequate to pay my debt towards my sister's champion. Ibelin blushes (this earning a small chuckle from Imad), and then I shake his hand: the young man looks surprised, but he answers with a firm grip. It gives me the opportunity to feel the calluses he bears on his hand. This young man is used to hard work, unlike that arrogant prick Guy de Lusignan who, according to Imad, looks down at Godfrey's son!

Finally, Ibelin and Tiberias get ready to leave, too. Yasmina's champion owns a gray horse who nickers softly, then it keeps itself very still when his master mounts him. It feels like the beast knows his master is recovering from an injury, and tries to help in any way it can. For sure, Ibelin has a way to earn respect, even from animals!

A servant clad in brown trousers and vest, sporting a white turban on his head, suddenly steps out of the crowd and approaches our departing guests, holding a pouch made of leather in his hand, just like the ones we use to carry almonds to eat during a trip. I cannot see his face since a portion of the white cloth veils it, but the servant raises his head. His gaze meets mine and I could recognize those beautiful obsidian eyes anywhere.

_Yasmina!_

My noble sister, disguised as a servant, walks freely toward her champion!

I am absolutely amazed but before I can even react, she approaches young Ibelin and slips the pouch in his hand. The Christian is as surprised as I am, but something entangled in the laces closing the pouch attires his attention – some kind of dried herb for all I can see. He looks at Yasmina and smiles, squeezing her fingers for an instant. This action was so brief nobody except Imad and I have noticed this silent exchange of thanks. But how in God's name Ibelin has managed to recognize Yasmina, clothed like a man and covering her face?

The "servant" humbly retires just before disappearing in the crowd, followed by a bunch of veiled handmaidens. No one of my men pays any attention to "him" since they are more interested in looking the Christians leaving my camp. Soon enough, the valorous enemies have disappeared in a cloud of dust and sand, heading for Jerusalem and the upcoming war.

I turn back into my tent, just in time to hide the huge smile spreading on my face!

_Did I say "smart and resourceful lady"?_

_That's the understatement of the year!_

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**_(Balian's POW) _**

It won't be long before we reach Jerusalem now. But the whole trip was a blur to me: I still feel weak, even if my wounds don't hurt much now and I know the convalescence might take a while. Lord Tiberias insists I will stay at his house for the time being, until I am fully back on my feet. De Châtillon's execution has muzzled the king's brother-in-law and his Templar friends, but that's just a reprieve before they start conspiring against King Baldwin IV once more. Lord Tiberias fears for me and he has no doubts De Lusignan will seek revenge for his ruined plans! My father's city house isn't safe enough, Ibelin is too far and I can't possibly stay at the palace since Guy haunts it.

For the moment, I wish I could sleep right here and there! The ride has exhausted me more than I will admit. We have stopped for a short rest and a drink of water but without dismounting. Lord Tiberias never leaves my side, eyeing me worriedly. I'd like to reassure him about my state of health but I don't think he'd believe me.

"So, what did she give you?" asks Brother Michael, appearing out from nowhere.

Lord Tiberias looks confused, but I smile before asking the Hospitaler:

"How did you know?"

"The disguise was very thorough, but she couldn't hide her hands, which were too fair and delicate to be a servant's!"

As usual, Brother Michael seems to be enjoying a private joke, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter, but Lord Tiberias can't make head or tail of whom we are talking about.

"Brother? I don't understand what you mean. Who gave Balian what?"

"I am talking about the woman who gave Balian the pouch just before we left Saladin's camp, my lord."

"She was Princess Yasmina, Saladin's sister." I say, taking out the pouch from under my shirt and holding it out for Lord Tiberias and Brother Michael to see.

Lord Tiberias looks stunned!

"Princess Yasmina? Balian, are you sure?"

I fiddle briefly with the barley entwined in the pouch's laces, before answering: "Yes, my lord, I am. The first time I saw her, she was holding a bouquet of barley ears in her hand… That was her only weapon against Renaud de Châtillon. The barley field lady, that's how I called her before learning her real name."

Brother Michael encourages me to open the pouch. As I do so, dozens of tiny, green-colored glass fragments fall into my hand! Lord Tiberias whispers_ "My God!"_ while the Hospitaler's smile increases. I have never seen anything like this before in my life, these fragments are finely shaped and their color reminds me of a church' stained-glass window, sparkling when sunlight filters through it. Here, these glasses shine so beautifully under the desert's sun! For a short time I forget about fatigue and pain, amazed by this display of green light resting in the palm of my hand.

"Lord Tiberias? What are these glassworks?" I ask, intrigued by the lady's present.

"You are not used to see this world's riches, Balian. These «glassworks» are precious gems, called emeralds. And by the beauty of them, it could easily pay a princess' ransom!"

I cannot help but feel humbled by the lady's incredible generosity and kindness, yet I feel there is another meaning in this present of gems. I look at the Hospitaler and, sure enough, he has this mischievous look on his face. Then he speaks out:

"According to the Saracens, the archangel Michael has wings of emerald green. My guess is Princess Yasmina wanted express her gratitude the same way her brother did. You will find Saladin's presents carefully hidden in your saddlebags, Balian."

Lord Tiberias looks incredulously at the monk. He gets ready to ask a question, then thinks better of it and turns to his men, ordering them to regroup as we leave at once. I place the emeralds back into the pouch, feeling embarrassed. I am a former blacksmith turned knight by my father's will, how could I be worthy to receive treasures from a king and a princess? The only precious present I've received in my life is the ring Sybilla gave me after our first night together, when we dropped our respective social masks to become a man and a woman in love.

I feel the Hospitaler's gloved hand resting briefly on my cheek, and then he says: "We should go now, _Mika'il_." before spurring on his horse to follow the group of departing riders.

And leaving me flabbergasted.

_How did he know this name?_

THE END!


End file.
